


Insomnia

by SeverusMinerva



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Insomnia, Sleep Deprivation, There are two (count them with me) 2 f-bombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 06:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverusMinerva/pseuds/SeverusMinerva
Summary: Reader can't sleep. Reader attempts to fix that situation. Aziraphale is intrigued by his human.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 120





	Insomnia

Not being able to sleep was a common occurrence for you, but just because you had gotten used to it over the years, didn’t mean that you liked it. It was terrible, especially when you had to get up early the next morning and you knew you weren’t going to get enough sleep because your anxiety kept you awake into the wee hours of the morning. Like right now, for example.

You were currently laying flat on your back in the bed that you shared with Aziraphale. You had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like days, but in reality (confirmed by a glance at the fancy digital clock Crowley had bought you for Christmas) had only been about ten minutes. You heaved yet another discontented sigh, inwardly grumbling at yourself. Why couldn’t you just fall asleep? You knew people who had the ability to sleep anywhere, at any time, regardless of what was happening around them. Why couldn’t that be you, just for one night? Beside you, Aziraphale shifted in his sleep, which only served to make you angrier. The man was an angel for fuck’s sake! He didn’t even _need_ sleep, and yet he was out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow on most nights. It was ridiculous.

Despite your misdirected fury at the poor man, you took pity on him and slid carefully out of bed, trying your best not to wake him. He may not physically need sleep, but you knew he enjoyed resting his mind from time to time. You stood by the bed for a moment, regarding the lump of blankets that was only recognizable to you as a person by your lover’s shock of impossibly white curls peeking out from the top. It was frankly adorable, but your sleep-deprived brain wouldn’t let you dwell on it. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

And by that, you meant getting a mug of milk, adding some sugar and vanilla, and heating it to that perfect temperature where the cup makes your hands warm, but the drink doesn’t burn your mouth. You padded to the kitchen to begin this well-practiced routine, something that always made you think of toasty winter nights with your parents. You smiled blearily to yourself as you pulled the milk out of the fridge. Maybe you should call your mom, see how she was doing. It’d been a couple months since you had talked to her, what with moving in with Aziraphale and stopping Armageddon, but you knew she wouldn’t mind. You placed the sugary, vanilla-y drink in the micro and punched the numbers. This part was the worst part: the waiting. The crucial period during which an exhausted body might finally give in and force you to fall asleep, thus forgetting the diabetes-inducing sleep aid waiting for you in the micro.

The Universe clearly had other plans for tonight, however, because, just as the timer reached 00:30, you nearly jumped out of your skin in alarm at the figure standing in the doorway. Aziraphale frowned at your reaction, wiping imaginary sleep out of his distressingly perfect eyes.

“Dearest? What are you doing awake?” You realized that, having just moved in with you, Aziraphale had never been witness to your late night insomniac ritual. The timer on the microwave beeped, disturbing you from your musing. You retrieved your drink, lifting it to your nose to have a sniff of the familiar goodness. You held it out for the angel to inspect.

“I, my darling, am making my mother’s favorite sleep aid: warm milk with sugar and vanilla.” Aziraphale frowned, leaning over to sniff the concoction for himself. His frowned deepened, but you ignored it in favor of taking that blessed first sip.

“That’s all? How is this supposed to help you sleep? If you were having a problem, you could’ve told me, I would have—”

“Knocked me out with a miracle? No thank you. This has always worked just fine for me.” You took another sip. You reached out with your free hand to take Aziraphale, and you led him to the kitchen table to take a seat while you finished your drink. He followed you obediently, watching you with his curious face on. You noticed this and put down your mug for a moment.

“My mother used to make this for me when I was young,” You explained with a small smile. “We had some of my favorite conversations drinking this stuff, and so I’ve grown to associate it with her. When I start missing her, this makes it less painful.” You knew Aziraphale wouldn’t judge you for your connection with your mother, after all he was a creature of love. He would understand the heartache of being apart from someone so dear to you. He reached across the table and covered your hand with his own, stroking his thumb along yours in wordless comfort. You grinned at him, and promptly downed the rest of your drink, leaving a charming (in Aziraphale’s words, not mine) line of milk along your upper lip. You wiped it off with the back of your sleeve and got ready to stand up, only to be held back by Aziraphale’s grip on your hand. His other hand came up to rest gently on your cheek as he gazed lovingly into your eyes. He leaned forward to place a sweet kiss on your lips, savoring the taste of warm sugar.

The two of you pulled apart, much to his reluctance. You were really starting to feel drowsy now, and it was of paramount importance that you got yourself into bed before the feeling wore off. You rinsed the mug quickly and placed it in the rack, rushing both you and your angel back into bed. You could feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves, but you ignored him.

Within record time, you were snuggled into the bed, head resting on Aziraphale’s chest, with one hand intertwined with his, and the other squished between you. You cuddled closer to him, and his arm tightened around you. The last think you felt before you finally (fucking _FINALLY_) drifted off, was a pair of lips pressing into the top of your head.


End file.
